


The Counter-Protest

by AnnetheCatDetective



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay marriage protests in Paris, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 05:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnetheCatDetective/pseuds/AnnetheCatDetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly pines after Bahorel. Combeferre is a terrible matchmaker. Somehow, things turn out all right just the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Counter-Protest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiniMangaFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniMangaFan/gifts).



Feuilly was tatting, curled in the corner of the sagging, ratty sofa that sat backed up against the only really good window of his friends' student apartment, and Combeferre appreciated the company while he studied-- Feuilly was mostly quiet, when quiet was what he needed. He couldn't think of a single time when the man had been an unwelcome presence, and the little sounds of industry as he worked weren't a disturbance.

 

In retrospect, Combeferre supposed he should have known the arrangement was too good to last.

 

"Do you think he's even queer?" Feuilly sighed. 

 

"Enjolras? I don't think he's anything, honestly, but Grantaire is convinced."

 

"Bahorel."

 

Combeferre squinted up at him. Enjolras had been subject to some speculation before... Bahorel never had. When the Amis asked about Enjolras, it was with an air of 'he's got to like something', with an air of 'you are one of his very best friends and therefore must know'. When Feuilly asked about Bahorel, Combeferre had to think it was entirely more personal than the idle questions that swirled around their leader. 

 

"I wouldn't know." He blinked. 

 

It struck him, in that moment, that if he'd been someone else, and Feuilly had not just interrupted his very important studying, he might have been moved by the aesthetics, at least... The afternoon light that came in through the window lit Feuilly spectacularly well, turned his mop of ginger hair into a halo of flame, cast dramatic shadows upon his pale face and serious frown. Feuilly, in that moment, was wasted upon a med student. An artist would have appreciated him, or a photographer. Or even a poet. Combeferre wouldn't have minded letting Jehan deal with the question of Bahorel, come to think of it.

 

"It's just... He's so..." A small smile twisted at Feuilly's lips. "Gregarious."

 

"He is that." Combeferre gave up on being able to return to his notes. 

 

"Engaging." Feuilly sighed again, setting his lace aside, atop a pile of fan ribs. "Dedicated. Handsome."

 

"I don't know why you should expect me to know if he is queer."

 

He shrugged. "I figured you for the expert."

 

Combeferre only sputtered.

 

"I mean, to listen to _Courf_ \--"

 

"Okay, fine, enough." 

 

"Because the way _he_ tells it--"  

 

"Courfeyrac is too interested in everyone's sex life. You think he'd be busy enough with his own." Combeferre grumbled. "Anyway, I think my type is a little... softer, than yours."

 

"Oh? Tell me about your type, then?" The redhead rolled his eyes. 

 

"I don't know." He groaned. "All I see lately in my dreams are detailed anatomical models, and not the fun kind, before you ask. Pretty, I guess. Slender and wide-eyed and rosy-lipped and... golden-haired." He shrugged, waving a hand in the air. "Or something."

 

"So the same type as Grantaire?" Feuilly grinned.

 

"Why don't you just ask Bahorel yourself?"

 

The grin dropped. "Because if he isn't, he'll know I'm asking because I'm interested. And if he's not... I mean... If I am and he's not, well..."

 

He picked his tatting back up and returned to it, brow furrowed. Combeferre attempted a return to his work, but it was difficult to focus with the sheer misery radiating from his friend.

 

"Call him and tell him to come over for a meeting tonight, all right? And I'll fix everything." He promised. "Just give me an hour without any more dramatic sighs so that I can finish this."

 

Combeferre got his hour. Bahorel came pouring into the apartment with Enjolras some time after, and they arranged themselves across the furniture. 

 

"Gentlemen, I would like to invite you to a counter-protest." Combeferre announced. 

 

"I've never countered a protest in my life." Enjolras snorted. 

 

"There's a protest going on against gay marriage. If we are not all free, then none of us are free, right?"

 

"Right!" Feuilly nodded emphatically, blushing as he caught Bahorel's eye. 

 

"Bahorel might escort Feuilly. You know, to... It makes for a better counter-protest, if we have couples. Besides, he's delicate, you know? He could get his nose broken or something if things turn violent and no one has his back."

 

"I'm not!" He began to protest, only for Combeferre to shoot him a look. "But it's a good idea. Bahorel might need looking out for, too, that is. If things turn violent."

 

...

 

The counter-protests were a success, or at least, they certainly felt like it. They counter-protested for a week, with hand-holding, with Bahorel spinning stories to passers-by about his loving boyfriend, with brief kisses. 

 

It was _torture_.

 

Feuilly was wondering if Combeferre had ever had a part two to his supposedly brilliant plan, because part one seemed to be 'tease Feuilly with Bahorel-who-turns-out-to-be-a-quite-good-actor', and he never even found out if Bahorel liked men or not.

 

Finally, he couldn't take it any more. 

 

"What do you mean you don't want to go?"

 

"I'm busy. Some of us have to work for a living." 

 

"I didn't realize running an etsy empire counted as wo-- You're pouting." Bahorel frowned. "Hey, I'm sorry, I won't make fun of your work, I like how... industrious you are. Or... Is... Do you not like the pretending?"

 

"Not terribly, no."

 

"Right." He let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you, I guess. I thought it would be all right, if it wasn't real."

 

"It really isn't." Feuilly's throat felt tight. 

 

"I won't do it again. I'll just go with Enjolras and Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Grantaire, if he's feeling sober and political. I really am sorry, Feuilly-- I didn't do it to bother you. And I didn't mean to mean it. But I understand how that would make you uncomfortable."

 

He left before Feuilly could parse the words, before he could stop him.

 

Didn't mean to mean it? Then he did mean it?

 

He rushed down to meet the others, out of breath when he found them, Bahorel explaining his absence and Enjolras and Combeferre visibly amused at his appearance. 

 

"Courfeyrac said he'd be here." Combeferre chuckled. "And it looks like you were wrong, Bahorel-- here's your boyfriend. Ah-- for the protest, of course."

 

"Not for the protest." Feuilly panted, shaking his head. He reached a hand out to Bahorel, smiling as it was taken. "But... maybe still your boyfriend."

 

There had been kisses on the forehead, kisses dropped to his hair, kisses on both cheeks and on the end of his nose and once or twice, chastely, on his lips. But there had never been a kiss like this, one that dipped him back and sent heat coiling all the way down to his toes. 

 

He felt confident there would be more of those in future.


End file.
